


doing history: or, how hermann got his mojo back

by Macremae



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Crack, Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), i genuinely have no idea what to tag this SO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29323791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: “Huh. I guess I never asked,” says Newton, curiosity apparent in his voice, “what were you even doing while I was out?”A very odd, awkward beat. Newton has enough time for a slow, perplexed blink. Then:“Well,” says Hermann.In which during his and Newton's ten years apart, Hermann racked up an extremely impressive, extremely famous body count. And achieved gay Nirvana. As one does.Also, Andrew Garfield is there.
Relationships: Hermann Gottlieb/Original Male Character(s), Karla Gottlieb/Vanessa Gottlieb, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	doing history: or, how hermann got his mojo back

**Author's Note:**

> VERY IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER: hi. as of posting, tomorrow is my birthday, and this absolute wackadoodle is my present to myself. it is not intended to be taken seriously in the slightest, and i am not the kind of person to actually speculate about the sexualities and dating lives of celebrities (except for andrew, but he's insane, and yes misha collins and his wife did write a book on polyamory. every day i find out something i wish i did not about supernatural). all real people present in this fic are presented as the pacific rim-verse versions of themselves, and have been altered or parodied for the sake of comedy and to fit the narrative. i do not condone, nor participate in, shipping real people. i do not give a shit about celebrities, to be quite frank. if this kind of zany isn't your cup of tea, good god more power to you. anyway, i knew this bit had to be said, so with that out of the way: hola mishamigos.

Hermann would be the first to emphatically say that he’s over the moon to have Newton back in his life, and he is. Waking up to scratchy singing in the kitchen, bickering over groceries in the middle of the aisle; it’s the kind of indulgent domestic bliss he’s grateful every day to have with him. There are, however, some aspects of being single that he does miss, the most pressing of which being able to settle down with a book and a cocoon of blankets, and being assured that no one will try and pilfer some of the latter for themselves.

“Newton, we have extras in the linen closet if you’re so cold,” Hermann mutters with as much grumpiness as he can muster, tugging the hem of one of the blankets back. Newton gives him an affronted look and nudges him with his shoulder.

“Asshole. Where was that logic when you called me ‘an excellent sleeping companion’ last night?”

Hermann pointedly turns a page. “In a place where I was willing to share.”

“Yeah, well, we’re married; too bad.” Newton grabs a different part of the blanket and wriggles under, coming up on Hermann’s other side and flopping across his chest. “Hi there.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Hermann says, scowling down at him as he closes his book and places it on the bedside table. As if on cue, Newton slips under the now-free arm he holds out. “Every day you drive me to insanity.”

“I’m an experiment conducted by Harvard, and you’re doing great, babe,” he replies, fishing a bookmark from where it had fallen underneath the pillow and handing it to him. “How was your day?”

Hermann sighs. “I was _expecting_ to brief a few new interns, but what do I see when I arrive at my desk this morning? I’m sure you’ve guessed: paperwork. Those pricks were holding out on me.”

Newton gives his chest a sympathetic pat. “Sorry. I’ll rub your hands if it’ll make you feel better.”

Hermann lets him take the one not slung around his shoulders, making a pleased noise when Newton’s fingers begin to knead at the meat of his thumb. “It’s not _your_ fault they decided it all needed to be done analog. I suppose they’re just being petty at this point.”

“What are you even having to fill out, expense reports on every IV drip I was on? ‘Please input in Box A the number of shitty infirmary meals your partner was forced to consume’.” He snorts. “They’re definitely fucking with us.”

“Let them,” Hermann says blithely. “I have a feeling I outrank them all at this point.”

“Ooh, baby, talk military bureaucracy to me.” He shakes his head. “Surprised you aren’t used to this shit by now. You remember what HR was like back in the day.”

“And with enough therapy, I won’t,” Hermann says flatly. “Some things never change.”

“So it’s been like this the whole time?” he asks. “Man. Sounds like the worst.” Hermann snorts.

“OSHA in Moyulan is quite different from Hong Kong during an interdimensional war. And of course they barely cover proper procedures for _that_ in university these days, so I had my work cut out for me with the interns.” He shoots Newton a half-smile. “Never boring, that’s for certain.”

“Huh. I guess I never asked,” says Newton, curiosity apparent in his voice, “what were you even doing while I was out?”

A very odd, awkward beat. Newton has enough time for a slow, perplexed blink. Then:

“Well,” says Hermann.

10 YEARS EARLIER 

Technically, if Hermann is being honest, a sabbatical should not involve any actual work from the job you are taking a leave from. However, he could counter, the alternative is… unattractive to say the least. 

Thus, here he sits, feet up on Karla and Vanessa’s $50 thrift store coffee table that, at this point, could probably survive the siege of London a second time, listening to the sound of heels click and belts buckle, dreading what is to come. He recrosses his feet, wool socks sliding across the lacquered surface, and assumes a position of immovability.

Right on cue, Karla exits from the bedroom, undoing the last button holding one of her collar flaps in place. She visibly takes in the scene, oversized sweater, cup of tea, and all, and gives him a tentative smile. _Ugh_. “Hermann,” she begins, “Vanessa and I are going to Elysium tonight. You should come.”

Hermann refuses to look up at the sound of Vanessa’s unmistakable brown Bebe booties. She’s wearing a perfume made for close proximity, sweaty dancing, and fun. The corner of his mouth twitches downwards. “No thank you”. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Karla gives her a look as if to say, “I tried. You deal with him”. Vanessa sighs.

“Okay,” she says, clapping her hands together so the rings on her fingers clink together, “lemme put this a different way: you have a problem”. She counts off on said fingers, “All you do is work until quite frankly ridiculous hours, then mope around the house reading your little fruit farm of a poetry collection and waiting for the climax of a Hallmark Christmas movie to kick in. You won’t go to therapy, you won’t try any dating apps; you’ve left us at an impasse.” 

Hermann pointedly flips a page in the copy of _Crush_ he _had_ been enjoying. In a clipped voice, he replies, “I’m fine, Vanessa. I’m coping.”

And with those two words, a switch is flipped. All bets are off. The Gottlieb trio has returned.

Vanessa folds her arms, rolling her eyes simultaneously. “Listening to Mitski and crying is not dealing with your problems!”

“That,” snaps Hermann, letting his book fall shut and slamming it down on the coffee table, “is a completely ridiculous notion, and I am notー”

“Karla, pull up his Spotify,” 

Karla’s phone is out in an instant. “Nothing but _Puberty 2_ on repeat for the past week.”

“Jesus Christ, Hermann!”

“I’m not going to bloody therapy!” he shouts, pointing an accusing finger at both of them. Vanessa makes a frustrated screeching noise.

“Fine! Then you’re gonna put on your big boy Oxfords and come out with us, and meet some nice STEM twink who’s obsessed with you, and get laid, okay?” She points an even fiercer finger back at him. “For the sake of this family, if not yourself!”

Hermann opens his mouth to argue, then closes it. Karla is giving him a look so lovingly stoney, he feels guilty just glancing in her general direction. Vanessa has her hands on her hips in a way she will absolutely deny is the spitting image of her mother. They both look down at him with the firm message that this is not going to be up for debate. 

He sighs petulantly. “Fine.”

“Thank God!” Karla exclaims, throwing her hands in their air in relief.

“Thank you! Jesus!” says Vanessa at the same time. “Everything is a goddamn ordeal around here.” 

Hermann scowls in a way that is _absolutely_ befitting a thirty seven year old academic. “I said I would go. I didn’t promise not to have a dreadful time.”

“Good lord, Hermann, at this point we’ll take it,” replies Karla. “Now get up and put something nice on. You’ve got to have at least one pair of trousers that fit.”

* * *

Newton rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably, shoulders turning inwards. “Oh. I mean, I knew meー or themー or whatever, leaving hit you pretty hard, but I didn’t know…” He trails off, grabbing a strand of hair and beginning to twiddle it. Hermann runs a hand across the side of his face, moving his fingers to bat Newton’s hand away, and runs them through his hair. 

“Of course you didn’t. You were rather pre-occupied at the time. But I did end up handling it, _and_ eventually starting therapy, and had wonderful friends to support me.” He strokes his thumb across Newton’s cheek, who leans into the touch. “It was hard, yes. But we’re here now, and I’d much rather celebrate that.”

Newton chuckles and presses a kiss to his palm. “Alright, alright. But you’ve got me curious now. Did you ever find that hot date?”

The memory sharpening, Hermann feels his cheeks pinken slightly. “Ah. Well. IーI did, yes. Actually.”

* * *

The Elysium is, in addition to being one of the few gay bars in London with more women behind the counter than men, and thus the choice that won out back in day when Hermann was, as always, beat two-to-one in most votes, mildly famous for serving frozen drinks that properly taste the way they’re advertised. The trio, forever hardened to the cold by a childhood in a ski resort town, appreciates this. One of them especially so. 

When Vanessa nearly spit-takes out the orange layer of her rainbow daiquiri, Hermann begins to mentally prepare himself. Then she nudges Karla, points, and Karla chokes on an ice cube. They both look at him with very, very dangerous smiles.

“What am I about to regret?” he asks. Vanessa’s grin gets wider. 

“You would not fucking believe who’s at the end of the bar,” she says excitedly. “Guess. C’mon, guess.”

Hermann sighs and fingers the stem of his wine glass. “Oh, I don’t know. Thatcher’s corpse.”

“The legitimate opposite, I believe,” says Karla. “I do hope we’re not wrong. That would make this very embarrassing.”

“Make what very embaー” Hermann starts, then freezes when he spots who they’ve recognized. “Oh no. No. No, no, no, Vanessa I will find something in the divorce to get you in court for, do not bring him over hereー!”

Ignoring his pleas completely, Vanessa has already slid off her barstool and sauntered over. She says a few words, points _directly_ at Hermann, grins even _wider_ (oh no), and returns to their little corner of the bar, leading behind her the last man Hermann would ever, ever want his best friend to speak to.

“Hermann!” she says delightedly. “Isn’t this so crazy? I told Andrew you were here with us tonight, and he just _had_ to come over and say hi!”

Hermann swallows down the bone-dry lump in his throat and holds out a clammy hand. “Mr. Garfield. I’m quite a fan of your work. How do you do?”

“Dr. Gottlieb,” says Andrew Garfield, cementing tonight as the strangest of Hermann’s entire life, despite the fact that a very recent one was spent Drifting with an infant Kaiju. “It’s great to meet you. You probably get this a lot, I know, but I owe you a lot of gratitude. Saving the world, and all that.”

“Right,” Hermann replies, feeling his hand shake long after Andrew Garfield lets go. “Of course. Thank _you_ for your, ahー _Angels in America_. It’s a lovely play.”

“It is!” His face lights up. “It really is, yeah. Have you seen it live, then?”

“Just read the text, I’m afraid. Although this is London, so I’m sure there’ll be another performance springing up soon.” He resists the urge to wipe his hands on his discomfitingly well-fitting trousers. “Areー are you in town for long?” he finds himself asking.

Andrew Garfield shakes his head. “Just for a few nights. Role research; I’m in a project about the coal miners’ strike and the, well,” he does a little gesture with his hand to the bar around them. “Good place to learn things.”

“Oh yes,” Karla agrees, “when Hermann and Vanessa and I first lived here, this was our favorite place to be very stupid twenty-somethings.”

“Really?” asks Andrew Garfield. He is still looking at Hermann. “You’re a part of the community here, then. Would youー would you mind telling me a bit about it, if you don’t mind? Young and gay and in London, and all that.” As he speaks, he gracefully takes a seat on the open stool next to Hermann. “Regardless, I mean, I find it interesting. Very relatable, in a way.”

Hermann opens his mouth to insist that really, Andrew Garfield must have a number of better things to do than hear about the all of three fumbling kisses he had in the men’s room, but Vanessa interrupts him.

“Hermann would love to, wouldn’t you Hermann?” Her stare says, “There are sad gay bitches who would kill to be where you are right now, hold your damn tongue”. “I know for a fact he’s got some _great_ stories to share. Well,” she takes Karla’s hand and grabs her purse, “we’re gonna say hello to some old friends; you two have a blast!” She throws a wink Hermann’s way. With a look, Hermann lets her know to lock her and Karla’s bedroom door that night, and hide the shaving cream. 

“Well,” he says briskly, turning back to Andrew Garfield, “I’m terribly sorry for them. Family. You know how it is.”

Andrew Garfield smiles kindly. “They seem like they mean well. Chosen family is, I think, a large part of growing up like that, right?”

He nods. “Yes. They’re married, of course, but it’s always been the three of us.” He allows himself a half-smirk. “In whatever variation.”

“And you?” asks Andrew Garfield. “Is there anyone…?”

“Oh!” Hermann feels his cheeks color, then a dull, familiar ache throb in the deepest part of his chest cavity. “No, ahー no. There wasー well, not really.” He flushes fully. “It’s all a bit complicated.”

Andrew Garfield settles his elbow on the bartop, and his chin in the palm of his hand. “Mmhm. Well I honestly think that’s beautiful, you know.”

Hermann arches an eyebrow. “How?”

“Things like thatー complicated relationships. They happen to everyone. Gay, straight, biー it doesn’t matter. Human love is messy and unpredictable, and we don’t, y’know, always choose who we fall for. It’s the wrong person a lot more often than we’d like.” He nods to himself. “It’s really wonderful that we’re seeing gay relationships as more and more normalized, in all the ways that any relationship can be. Love is hard regardless of gender, I mean. Circumstances vary, but it is.”

Hermann lets the eyebrow settle an inch, but keeps it up there. “You seem quite experienced on the subject.”

Andrew Garfield shrugs delicately. “I’m not the, well, kind of person that limits myself in experiences. I want to be a good actor; I want to be able to become all sorts of people. And I think humans limit themselves in general. I know the ‘I don’t believe in labels’ thing is quite overdone these days, regardless of if the person really doesn’t or not, but I personally don’t. They don’t work for me. I say, a lot, that I’m heterosexual, and maybe I am, but maybe I’m not. I don’t believe we ever really know ourselves, or at least I don’t.”

_This man has utterly no brain to mouth filter_ , Hermann thinks. He nods. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. I’ve always found being ‘gay’ a very comfortable thing. I know Karla and Vanessa find a lot of freedom in calling themselves lesbians, and butch and femme, although I’m sure you could tell which was which. For a lot of us, labels are an answer, not another question.”

“And your history,” Andrew Garfield says. “I’m sure you found a lot of fascination and comfort in that.”

“I’m a bit behind, I’m afraid,” Hermann admits. “With the, ah, Kaiju, and my research; I wasn’t able to be publicly out until nearly my late twenties. Sometimes,” he pauses, “sometimes I feel I’ve missed out on quite a lot. Even with what I did get to experience. I’ve always been rather awkward when it comes to that sort of thing. Not really the type for, well. ‘Experiences’, as you called it.”

“I guess you’ve got quite a bit of time now,” Andrew Garfield says helpfully. “Being a world-saving scientist and all that. There’s no shame in making up for lost time.”

He blinks slowly as he says this, eyelashes casting a colorful shadow from the lights around them. Hermann feels his heart skip a beat. He could be reading wrong, he usually is no matter the situation, but is heー?

“I suppose not,” he agrees. Thenー oh, what the hell. He’s thirty-seven and a minor celebrity and hasn’t fucked in years. Making up for lost time indeed. Karla and Vanessa, damn them, are right: he needs to live a little. Feeling an alien, but not unwelcome sense of boldness, he places his hand a few inches from Andrew Garfield’s elbow. “I haveー erー quite a number of pictures we took. Back when we were younger; digitization is the death of Polaroid quality to be honest, but if you’d like… well, there are certainly some stories?”

Andrew Garfield’s startlingly bright gaze doesn’t falter. “That sounds wonderful, Dr. Gottlieb. My hotel isn’t far from here at all, if you wouldn’t mind a walk?”

Hermann pushes down the nerves threatening to fill his stomach and smiles. “Not at all. And please, call me Hermann.”

* * *

Hermann has only seen this look of disbelief, rage, and muted jealousy on Newton’s face once, and to be perfectly honest, he’s having to try very hard not to look smug. Instead, off Newton’s shocked, open mouth, he shrugs. “Well, what would you like me to say? It happened.”

“Are you kidding me,” says Newton flatly. Hermann shakes his head.

“It’s not like relentlessly mooning over you for ten consecutive years was a realistic life plan, Newton.”

“That’s _exactly_ what you did! That’s exactly what we both fucking did!” Hermann’s blush deepens.

“And in the meantime, I did what any man of my age and stature and position would do: I enjoyed myself. I won’t have you looking so surprised about it.”

“Waitー ‘enjoyed yourself’?!” Newton asks in a pitch only dogs and Hermann can hear. “Like, actual sex-sex?”

“Honestly, are you twelve? Yes!” Hermann says, more than a little affronted. “We slept together, if you must know, and I’m shocked you aren’t looking in my memories right now to seeー”

“What do you _mean_ you gave Andrew Garfield a blowjob?! How did you get through _that_ glass closet, but breaking _me_ out took four goddamn months?!” Newton explodes. Hermann sniffs. 

“I told him I found his depiction of Eduardo Saverin very relatable.” 

Newton’s voice goes up another octave. “Oh, but you didn’t see _my_ ‘wired in’ situation; _okay_!”

Hermann rolls his eyes. “It was far from the worst thing I did during that time, for heaven’s sake. I was masterfully manipulated by a very close friend into my _actually_ most heinous act.”

“Dude, letting Vanessa get you into Taylor Swift is nobody’s fault but your own,” Newton says, simmering down just enough to give him a sarcastic raise of the eyebrow. “Let’s be fair here. And anyway, Andrew Garfield isn’t your _drift partner_ , so I think I come out on top here.”

“Actually, he’s aー nevermind,” Hermann says. “He certainly wasn’t. But I _will_ say that you cannot be upset at not being the _only_ person to find me attractive.”

“I’m not!” Newton agrees, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Personally, I think every guy on the planet should be aware that you’re a major catch. I’m justー I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but _Andrew Garfield_?! It’s kinda crazy.”

“Oh, not to me. He ended up marrying another fellow a few years later. Good for him, I suppose.”

“Really? Newton asks. “Who?”

Hermann furrows his brow, remembering. “Some former costar, I believe. A fellow named Jesse Eisenberg?”

Newton goes very, very quiet. 

He sucks in a breath, presses his lips together, and lets it out. “Okay,” he says, “okay. Cool. Gonna spend the rest of my life processing that information. Awesome. What’s next?”

“‘Next’?” Hermann echoes.

“You said you’d decided to ‘live a little’. That’s not just hooking up with one guy, Hermann.” Newt gives him a look. “So, color me curious. Whatー or who, I guessー else did you do?”

Hermann clears his throat a little embarrassedly. “Well. If you’d really like to know…”

* * *

“Hermann, now that you’ve begun your self-actualization as a functioning member of society again, I’ve decided to make you my new project!”

Hermann looks up from his tablet, lowers his reading glasses, and frowns. “Please do not quote musical theater at me. You know my distaste for it.”

Vanessa flips him the bird. “Get well soon. Anyway. I’ve assembled a list of self care activities, ranging from fun to necessary, to maybe make you feel a little better.” She taps her phone and shows him the screen; it’s a Notes file that appears distressingly full. The title reads, “Nails, Hair, Hips, Heels”. He frowns.

“That is a disconcerting title, Vanessa. Also, I’m not interested in wearing polish. It’s unpleasant for me.”

“I know,” she says. “But your cuticles suck, you _clip_ your nails down to the quick which is _so_ bad for them, and you haven’t touched the Aquafor _I told you_ to borrow. So you’re coming with me because I need new acrylics, and we’re gonna fix ‘em. Trust me, this is also an adulting thing. You are _asking_ for a cuticle infection the way you’re going.”

Hermann sighs. She makes an unfortunate point. “Fine. And the rest of it?”

“I’ve been fading Karla’s buzzcut since we were twenty three. Your hairstyle is the same as Coconut Head from _Ned’s Declassified_. Will you pretty please let me fix it?”

“ _Anything else_?” Hermann asks through gritted teeth, a roundabout agreement. Vanessa nods.

“We’re gonna go on Pinterest, and then to some places I like, and I’m gonna help you find some clothes that actually fit and _you_ actually like. I know you have your sensory stuff,” she adds before he can open his mouth, “and that comes first. But you’re never gonna feel more confident by walking around in baggy tweed pants and vests that smell like mothballs. Appearance does matterー not so much for other people, but for yourself. Wearing stuff that makes you feel happy when you look in the mirror is gonna translate to real life.”

“Have you been reading Karla’s old textbooks again?” he asks. She grins.

“This is straight from the wife’s mouth, bud. Your sister knows her stuff. You should listen to her more.”

Hermann inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Alright. Let’s get this done with. But it’s a hard ‘no’ for anything too flashy.”

“So, colorful,” says Vanessa flatly. 

Hermann doesn’t correct her.

* * *

“I’m gonna ask a seemingly innocuous question,” says Newton.

“I have no idea what to expect, and that perturbs me,” says Hermann. Newton nods.

“Cool. Why would KJ Apa be shopping in person at Banana Republic?”

Hermann blinks. The thought had honestly never occurred to him. “Why wouldn’t he be? It’s a store.”

“Well sure,” says Newton, tone of voice belaying the glut of information he’s about to share, “but typically celebrities don’t show up _themselves_ to shop at that kinda place; I mean, it’s not exactly high-end.”

“It isn’t?” He vaguely remembers Vanessa saying something about it “being more his style and price range”, but surely sweaters that cost more than fifty dollas must be _some_ indicator of status. Newton gives him a look that contains multitudes; mostly a mixture of droll amusement and disbelief.

“Babe, they’re an offset of the GAP.”

“The yoga pants store?”

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I remember this or that it’s still relevant; okay,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Okay, quick rich people brands tutorial: there are a couple different levels of ‘high end’ clothing stores: stores that middle class people see as high end, stores that upper class people see as high end, and stores that YouTubers go to film themselves shopping at for clickbait. Banana Republic is the first one; so is White House Black Market, J. Crew, and other places frat boys shop at.”

“I assume you became quite familiar with those,” Hermann says dryly. Newton makes a face.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. So that’s one tier, and then you have ‘Premium’ like Coach, Calvin Klein, and Guess. Sweet sixteen gift-stores that everybody gets invited to at fashion week because they’re stupid expensive, sure, but still relatively accessible to a certain sector of income levels. Accessible luxury, on the other handー Ralph Lauren and Stella McCartneyー that’s getting a little pricey even for upper middle class. ‘Accessible’ is totally B.S. by the way, but whatever. And finally,” he sucks in a breath through his teeth, “are the top tiers. Aspirational and Supreme. Prada, Gucci, and Louis Vuitton, and then Chanel, Dior, and Kiton. Stupid fucking expensive, you definitely show up in one of those stores, and if you don’t buy something they basically assume you’re here to rob and kick you out.”

“Good Christ, Newton,” Hermann says.

“I wish I didn’t know any of that, but here we are. But yeah, for its level of luxury, it’s weird KJ Apa would be at a Banana Republic. So you guys had sex, too?”

* * *

Aggressively Christian acoustic movie-musicals apparently net quite a bit of a paycheck (alongside, of course, the assumedly substantial compensation for whatever on Earth is going on in _Riverdale_ ), because KJ Apa has an extremely nice set of bedsheets. Hermann would know. He’s currently covered head to toe in them, because the man’s Air B&B room is bloody _freezing_.

“Well,” he says pleasantly, “that was quite nice.”

“I think I might be gay,” says KJ Apa.

“Congratulations. Are you hungry? There’s a nice pub two blocks over; I like their reuben.”

“Oh my God.”

Hermann sighs and rolls over, extricating one arm from the blanket pile to prop his head up against his hand. “Alright. Is this going to be an issue?”

“Uh. I dunno?” KJ Apa stares pensively at the ceiling, arms folded over his toned chest in a way that almost looks vulnerable. “It just wasn’t really something I was. Y’know. Expecting.”

“My sisters watch your television show.” he replies dryly. “You kiss quite a lot of men.”

“Well yeah, Roberto’s gay, but it’s whatever. He’s got his own weird thing with that play he did, and Archie, and I think some kinda scheme or whatever, but thatー I mean that doesn’t really have anything to do with me.” KJ Apa gives him a tiny shrug. “I try to keep myself pretty separate from my characters.”

“One doesn’t have to affect or reflect the other,” Hermann points out. “Plenty of gay people play straight characters, and vice versa. Your generation is lucky, in a way,” and oh, doesn’t saying _that_ make him feel hopelessly old. “You _can_ keep it seperate if you want to. I very vividly remember a time when, once someone came out in entertainment, that was it. Either the press shoved it all back into the closet and tried to keep it very, very quiet, or it completely defined them; not in a persona way, but out of their control.”

KJ Apa nods. “Lili always said she wanted to make sure she was able to come out on her own terms. I guess I never really thought about how important that would feel.”

Hermann snorts. “Oh, you have no idea.” He sighs. “I was too young to really absorb most of itー 1989 was right smack in the middle of it all, and by the time I began realizing I was part of the group AIDs was most affecting, things were beginning to improve, at least in Europe. But I felt the aftershocks. Thousands of us, gone. My generation had almost no mentors, no one to explain our history and everything it entailed. I sometimes think, to sound extremely out of touch, that the ‘youths’ these days take a good deal for granted.” He inclines his head towards KJ Apa, “And thank God they can. A good deal of people fought long and hard for the right to have petty squabbles on the internet about nothing. Heaven knows I’ve indulged in plenty. But it makes one wonder if we’re representing accurately enough how dangerous being out used to truly be.”

“So what’s your advice, then?” KJ Apa asks. “To the ‘youths’.”

Hermann snorts. “Enjoy what you’ve got. To quote those sisters of mine, ‘Live a little’. Embrace, if you can, whatever parts of yourself it seems most convenient to hide. But try and find out what you have to be thankful for. Again, I show my age, but do a little reading. Then, once you know it? Do your very best to make sure things are never like that again.”

“So…” he scrunches his face a little, thinking. “I need to start wearing a boa to work?”

“Only if you want to,” Hermann says wryly. “Part of what’s so wonderful now is, you get to decide what your experience looks like. If flamboyance is what suits you, which I’m beginning to enjoy a bit of myself, then have at it. If you’d rather pop on a button down and wait at the bar until some clean-cut young fellow with two children and a Labrador comes to sweep you off your feet, well, best of luck. And a myriad of shades in between, all with their own history.” He arches an eyebrow. “It’s your choice. I’d appreciate it, if I were you.”

KJ Apa rolls over to face him. “What about you?”

He blinks. “What _about_ me?”

“Are you, y’know, living your best life and all that? You seem like a pretty great guy, Doc, and no offense, but at your age I’m kinda surprised you don’t have a husband.”

“I was a bit busy for a while with more pressing matters, as I’m sure you noticed,” Hermann shoots back, although not unkindly. “I’d like to, one day.” He pauses. “Life doesn’t always go as planned, I suppose. I did thinkー” He stops himself; shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m trying to embrace this part of myself a little bit more. Less of a mid-life crisis, and more finding out what I missed. But I _would_ like to.”

KJ Apa gives him a dazzling grin. “Well I hope you find him. I consider myself a pretty sharp guy, and I don’t understand half of what you’ve written about, but I hope whoever you end up with does.”

Hermann smiles back, struck with a tinge of shyness at being underneath such focused, unfiltered charm. How on Earth he and that Hansen boy came from the same part of the world will forever be beyond him.

“Thank you. If you ever need an ear for this sort of thing, well. I suppose it’s my generation’s turn for that mantle, yes?”

* * *

“Can I just get a list?” Newton asks, “of who else? I’m feeling mildly overwhelmed here.”

“Hm.” Hermann begins to count off on his fingers. “Well there were those two fellows I mentioned, and then a few I met at a dinner Vanessa took me to, and that very odd man and his wife who propositioned me for aー” he clears his throat embarrassedly, “well, a threesome.”

“Holy shit,” says Newton, eyes almost fully bugging out of his head. “Who?!”

“Very odd manーhe was on this television show you became interested in for a bit back in the year we first worked together. Strange name, too; Misha?”

Newton stares at him for a marked total of five seconds, then calmly says, “Excuse me,” grabs a pillow, and screams into it. Hermann flinches slightly; he hasn’t heard _that_ noise in several months, but even the bewildering context brings back unpleasant memories. 

“What on Earthー Newton!” he yelps, pulling his arm away. “Now why is _this_ particular one so egregious?”

“I’m married to the biggest PR upset in Hollywood, and he doesn’t even know it,” Newton says to himself faintly. He lets his face drop back into the pillow and makes a pained noise. “God. So you said no, I assume?”

“Well of course,” Hermann replies disdainfully. “His wife would have been involved, and I simply don’t ‘swing that way’, if you will. I wouldn’t have taken him up on it regardless; like I said, he was very odd.”

“I feel moderately ill. Does your drawer have Ibuprofen?” When Hermann nods, Newton reaches over and pulls it open, grabbing the bottle and swallowing one dry. Hermann winces. 

“You could have choked on that.”

“You know how to do it, so I know how to do it. Magic.” Newton lets the drawer slam shut dramatically. “Was there anyoneー even moderately normal, pleaseー that you slept with?”

* * *

From: hgottlieb@gmail.com

To: clevejones@unitehere.org

Subject: Re: Dinner

Cleve,

Thank you again for last week. I apologize for not replying sooner; the ten year anniversary of my divorce was Tuesday and Vanessa insisted on celebrating. She’d love to meet you sometime, although I think the two of you would get on distressingly well. 

At any rate, I’ve been thinking about what you asked me when we were walking to my flat. It’s funny how a two-word question can have such a complicated answer. “What next?” I don’t know. I’m getting on; I’m almost forty three. I never expected to make it to middle age. Not in a deprecating sense, but first my conditions, then the wonders of a turbulent adolescence, and then the war. It’s something I’m certainly having to come to terms with. For a long time I had an idea of what it would look like; you’ll remember I even admitted after a few too many glasses of wine _who_ with, but I’ve tried to put that behind me. Radical acceptance, as my therapist likes to say. There remains an uncertainty, however, that I can’t shake. By all accounts I should be quite happy with my ability to think about settling down; the world is intact and healing, I have a family that, while certainly unconventional, I love, and marriage for us has been legal for years. I don’t see myself ever adopting, but I even have that ability, if I so choose. People like usー you, in factー fought for this kind of life to be something we could have. So why do I feel so guilty for wanting what is, in all respects, decidedly normal and mundane? I don’t want to be cliched and say there must be something wrong with me, but, well. You know how we titter. Was it ever like this for you? Buyer’s remorse, in a way?

Sending my good wishes to the cats; happy hunting, if they deign to do so. Blast the chimps, I can’t think of a more humanistic animal.

ーHermann

From: clevejones@unitehere.org

To: hgottlieb@gmail.com

Subject: Re: Re: Dinner

Dear Hermann,

For a set that’s often stereotyped as vain as all hell, we sure are surprised by mirrors. At least when they’re other people. Mary, I’ve had the same crisis at least a dozen times. Hence: the cats. All the children I’ll ever need, and all I’ll ever get, God willing. They’re quite a handful.

I think we really do work ourselves up over this one, and not for a lack of reasons. Going from unspeakable loneliness to fragile community to suddenly seeing two guys kiss in a Sears commercial would give anybody whiplash. Just ask your sisters about Subaru. But I hesitate to say it’s incurable, this gay-life crisis. No, telling yourself, “stop being so depressing, just enjoy yourself, we have so much further to go!” won’t work, believe you me. The key is to figure out what _you_ want, and realize that’s all that matters. Not what straight people think is more palatable, not what the club kids are doing: you. The whole joy of having options is getting to decide what traditions and aspects of gay culture you want to keep, and which don’t fit. I know my whole life speaks otherwise, but our sexualities really are just one part of who we are. I like pineapple on ham, you gave me the funniest queen glare I’ve ever seen when I insisted it’s good. We contain multitudes; welcome to being human. 

There’s a lot of pressure to buck normalcy and embrace our roots in being loud and out there, and for a lot of people (including me), that’s fine. You seem like the type of guy to put wearing metallic underwear outside your comfort zone, but what do I know? The point is that we get to have it both ways if we want to, as I’m sure you’ve been discovering. For many, many, _many_ years, the world wanted to box us in to either heathen, or cured, or dead. Now we can just be ourselves, whatever that looks like. Personally, I think you’re pretty great. 

Hitting send with a tail in my face, so forgive any typos,  
Cleve

* * *

Newton gives him a soft, genuine smile. “Aw. That’s really sweet.” Hermann nods, remembering.

“It was an odyssey of self, one could say. Necessary, and turbulent, but I think it turned out alright in the end.” He slides his arm back around Newton’s shoulders, pulling him close. Newton rests his head on Hermann’s collarbone without missing a beat. “I’m very glad to be where I am now.”

“Me too.” Newton presses a kiss to his neck, chaste, then a second one decidedly less so. He snickers at Hermann’s sharp intake of breath. “I’m not actually jealous, I swear, it’s just crazy. But cool. _I_ get to be your husband, so I totally win.”

Hermann threads his fingers through the hairs at the base of Newton’s neck, tilting his head back as Newton moves up to kiss his jaw. “Mm, you certainly do. Lucky you.”

“Lucky me.” He slides a hand under the sleep shirt Hermann _knows_ will end up on Newton by the end of the night. “Can I show my appreciation?”

Hermann wraps a leg around his husband’s calf, sets a hand on his husband’s soft waist, and moves down to kiss _his husband_ long and deep. “But of course,” he says, pulling away for just a moment. “Nothing could make me happier.”


End file.
